Chapter 4: The Chosen One?

With a clang, the vial that held the Grand Duke’s blood falls to the floor.

Simultaneously, the sword that pushed the vial away rushes towards me as if embracing me, forcibly settling its blade across both my hands.

Then, it begins to glow of its own accord.

It emits an eerie and intense blue light from its blade, as if condensing all the winters of the North, instinctively sending chills down my spine.

This entire process happened remarkably quickly, so recognizing the current situation didn’t take long either.

My head, which had been wasting its function on useless thoughts, fortunately started working quickly.

No, at this moment, the process of ‘wasting’ absolutely shouldn’t be happening.

Because the immediate situation meant that things had gone terribly wrong, leaving a huge crack in my daily life.

The first thing that comes to mind is a question.

A question about why on earth this damn holy sword chose me.

The moment Batory takes on its blue light is only when—its master holds it, or the one holding it is destined to be its master.

And the fact that I have become its master is being felt accurately through all my senses.

It’s not something that can be detached by letting go, nor is it something that will end even if I do let go.

This crazy holy sword choosing me as its master is synonymous with me, of all people, being selected as the next Grand Duke.

I’m dying to know what criteria it used to conclude that I’m superior to my brother, but that’s a matter to ponder later.

What’s more important right now is how to deal with the situation.

Quickly schooling my expression and looking around, there isn’t a single person not looking this way.

Therefore, it was confirmed that the truth of my selection by the sword would become an event known to the entire world.

My head already hurts.

The duties of a Grand Duke are honestly not something to think about yet.

Protests would surely flood in about someone with no Weiss blood qualifying as the heir, and just dealing with that phase would likely leave me unable to even breathe properly.

Considering that this would probably happen within the day, the back of my neck felt incredibly stiff, and anger surged for the first time in a while.

…I must overcome this situation somehow.

While the fact that the sword chose me cannot be denied, there must surely be a clever way to nullify this fact.

Perhaps, the first idea that comes to mind is for someone authoritative in this ritual to raise an issue with the succession ceremony—

………Ah, right.

There’s no way that old man would do that.

Whether he earned his experience uselessly or not, the Cardinal is proving with his whole body that he lacks the capacity to handle the situation.

With eyes sparkling to the point of looking foolish and mouth agape, there seems to be no hope to place on the old man.

No, even so, he’s just the first person.

There’s still one more person worth hoping for.

There are three participants in the succession ceremony, and if the Cardinal is in that state, perhaps the other one—

………What was I even expecting.

That naive little brother of mine is also just showing a somewhat crestfallen expression, looking similar to the Cardinal.

Thinking about it, it doesn’t seem like just crestfallenness, maybe jealousy?

Relief?

Longing?

It seems to be shifting more towards jealousy as time passes, but that’s probably not important.

I shouldn’t have expected experience, which even the old man lacked, from my brother in the first place.

It was my own damn fault for letting my judgment dull while sunk in laziness.

…Ha, now the responsibility has fallen to me too.

Since two of the three people who could open their mouths and change the atmosphere are useless, I’m the only one left who can resolve this situation.

But what should I say to overcome this?

What words must I utter to escape the position of Grand Duke?

If it were the Cardinal or my brother, they could perhaps frame it as me having switched the blood, but as the person holding the sword, I can’t exactly offer myself up as a sacrifice for a witch hunt.

Nor can I say things like ‘I am not qualified’.

For what it’s worth, this succession ceremony was conducted under the notarization of the head of the Northern Archdiocese, that long-tongued Cardinal.

Making a mistake could easily lead to my words being interpreted as insulting the Cardinal, and beyond him, the main deity.

If that happened, it would escalate from a succession ceremony to a divine trial, making it the worst possible self-destructive move.

…Are there no other words, no other words I can say?

Am I supposed to just meekly accept this disgustingly abrupt choice and continue striving to live a meaningful life?

Absolutely, that kind of thing was absolutely refused.

I struggled enough, tiresomely enough, in my past life.

I worked hard enough, pathetically enough, in my past life.

I had already filled my life to the brim, to the point where I had no more interest.

So what was left?

Trapped by diligence, what had I gained?

From the moment I recall those times I don’t even want to remember, I can no longer hold back the curses.

The thought of immediately clawing off this mask covering my face with my fingernails, biting my lip hard, and driving this surging resentment deep into the bones of someone swirls in my mind.

Even if I become a beast, I wanted to shatter this foolish life that would gain nothing, this future certain to become empty, with an emotion-filled scream, and tear apart those just watching blankly.

Am I supposed to just stand by and watch as my future is decided to be the same as my past life, all because of the action of that mere blade?

Without any counter-argument, without any rebuttal allowed, just by the single action of that piece of scrap metal—

………Heh, aha.

No, that’s not it.

Is there really a need to resolve this with words?

If that thing designates me through action, then I just need to respond with action as well.

Yes, it’s just shortening a period that would have been five years at most to now.

Didn’t I not consider it that important anyway?

For me, with my poor sense of time, for me, who desires nothing in particular, now or five years from now makes little difference.

Rather, this plan might be even better.

Indeed, actions speak louder than words, and it would be far better for appearances and justification.

It’s just cutting things off faster than expected, that’s all—

—!

The ringing cry of the sword travels up my hands.

Its size surely seems like a weight I couldn’t possibly lift, but the actual weight felt in my hands is as light as a feather.

The sharpness felt along with the trembling vibration is piercing even without touching, making it feel as if a chilling cold is flowing through my veins.

The sword has no mouth.

But it is definitely speaking to me.

Clearly, it is telling me what I must do.

It commands me to place this space beneath its hilt and rule upon that hilt.

It reminds me to support the heavens with coldness, to warm those before me with confidence.

It vibrates its body, ordering me to sit on that noble seat, maintain my dignity, and command as the Duke.

I slowly readjust my grip on the sword, assuming a posture easy to move in.

The sword’s cry probably won’t stop.

Unless I do what ought to be done with this sword, it will persistently ring out and lead me.

But is the only thing that ought to be done with a sword merely sitting on a seat?

—!?!

Whether this is a sword that chooses the family head or one that protects the duchy, it is ultimately just a blade meant for wielding.

Rather, it should be a renowned sword forged by a god, far more suitable for wielding, for cutting down.

Separate from what I have to do, the intuition that if I move the sword like this, I could cut down anything, any living creature, in a single stroke is definitely not a delusion.

Even though I’ve never even held a sword before, the thought that this weapon was powerful enough to produce such force was strongly embedded in my mind.

Therefore, it should be enough.

I correct my hold on the sword.

Not the flat side of the blade, but the edge faces towards me.

—!!!

No particular strength is needed.

No particular skill is needed.

Just like this, just by slightly twisting my wrist like this, it will surely cut in an instant.

From the crown of my head, to my heart.

And that is what I wished for.

Having taken my medicine, no major obstacles should arise.

There would be no sudden fear, and it would be such a short time that there wouldn’t even be a chance to stop midway.

It was the best move available in the current situation.

Either spend the rest of my life in useless struggle, or end things with a rather beautiful final scene.

—!!!!!

As someone with absolutely no attachment or interest in life, the choice I would naturally pick was the latter.

If the holy sword chose me to live the life of a Grand Duke, then I just had to abandon that life.

Perhaps as a bonus to this choice, even the immediate situation would be somewhat resolved.

An adopted daughter of the Weiss family who sensed that even if she was suited to be ruler, her ascension would only bring tragedy.

Unable to hand over the sword, yet unable to ascend as Grand Duke herself, caught in a dilemma.

—!!!!!!!!!!!

Having reached the conclusion that her very existence was the problem, she—

For her brother, and for the duchy… took her own life.

[…You… cra..—!]

Wouldn’t that be reasonably convincing to the average person?

No, whether it’s convincing or not isn’t actually the important issue.

I don’t want to calculate the pros and cons of human relationships even in something like this.

The main thing is that I don’t want to fill the rest of my life with meaningless effort, and if that’s the case, suicide was simply the better option.

With that thought, I even gave up on the facial expression control I usually paid careful attention to—

My wrist, adding strength—

[Hey, you crazy b*tch!!!!!!!]

—I gave in.

………Ah.

—!!!

My forehead stings slightly.

Feeling the sting means I’m still alive, right?

Opening my eyes, which had closed as a biological reaction, I saw the sword vibrating strongly, preventing my wrist from twisting further.

[Aargh, I was so happy a suitable person finally appeared, but why does she have to have a personality like this]

And, it felt like I heard a voice.

A voice coming from the sword, which should have no mouth.

Ignoring the sound, I bit my lip hard and forcefully applied strength to my wrist.

Whether this voice was the sword’s will or not, what I wanted wasn’t an ambiguous cut, but a definite slice.

[Don’t be ridiculous! This is a chance that came after who knows how long, you think I’ll let myself die miserably]

The sword’s cry gradually intensified, and against my will to cut myself, it made my arm tremble progressively more.

In opposition, I tilted the sword towards myself with all my might, but—

[—Like hell!!!!!]

“………Ah.”

Regrettably.

The result, in the end.

…Was me, merely holding it aloft according to the sword’s will.

Emotions like despair and anger quickly well up, pushing aside the indolence that had occupied that space for so long.

Expressing such feelings, with a blank expression and blood trickling from my forehead, holding the sword high, the sound that breaks the silence is—

“N-No way!!”

—The bewildered cry of someone unable to accept this situation.